


Slaves to the Institution

by Sealie



Series: sga/traders [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis/Traders xo [voyage par mer segment]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-06
Updated: 2006-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stargate Atlantis/Traders crossover no' 7 [voyage par mer segment]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slaves to the Institution

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG-15 for Rodney’s potty mouth  
> Spoilers: none  
> Betas: LKY looked at the first draft and Cindy checked the second draft. They're great. I played with it a wee bit afterwards.

**Slaves to the Institution**   
**  
by Sealie   
**

McKay rode a wave of fury.

Fury with a capital F.

As he blew into General Landry’s office, smashing the door up against the wall, the man stood up, pushing back from his desk. The annoying little white haired gnome, who seemed to be part secretary and part stargate announcer, ran away through the opposite door into the adjacent corridor – no doubt to get reinforcements.

“You bastard!” McKay jabbed a finger in Landry’s direction. “You thought it was funny, didn’t you. Clever. Let’s get a replacement McKay. Quiet, bright, easy to control.”

“No, son.”

“Don’t call me son. I’m not your son. Did you even bother reading his medical records before alerting the whole fucking universe that there was another Brain in the system? A vulnerable Brain at that? A Brain that can’t protect himself? You know that the Trust is out there… NID, you name it… any terrorist organisation with even an interest in science. You know the reality of this world: we’re slaves to the institution.”

“There were assigned bodyguards,” Landry interjected.

“Fat lot of good they were,” McKay said nastily, registering an answering flare in Landry’s eyes. “They were in the parking lot, the imbeciles. They deserve Darwin Awards. Who trained them? Bugs Bunny or Elmer Fudd? You put my cousin in an untenable situation – then you left him hang out to dry because he didn’t agree to join the programme. They were barely there for me. They weren’t there for Grant.”

“Their remit--”

“Remit! Remit! What remit? Protect from a hundred yards away? I want your fucking resignation on this desk.” McKay slapped his hand down. “I want the head of security’s resignation on her desk.”

“McKay.” Another voice entered the throng.

Rodney jerked around. General O’Neill stood silhouetted in the doorway leading to the corridor.

New meat. McKay bared his teeth at the reinforcements.

“How’s your cousin?” O’Neill asked softly.

“How the Hell do you think my cousin is? He’s in the infirmary. They can’t give him tranquilizers because the drugs that the fucking kidnappers gave him are interacting dangerously with his meds. I--” McKay thumped his chest, “--had to cut his hair to get the glue from the gag off his face. Carson had to hold him down to give him antihistamines to stop the allergic reaction from the glue and the solvent we needed to use to get the reams -- you hear that, reams -- of tape off his skin. He’s in Sheppard’s arms sobbing his heart out. All because you guys couldn’t find your ass --”

“McKay!” O’Neill barked.

“Don’t ‘McKay’ me,” McKay snapped back. “You want to know how serious I am? The President--”

“Hey.” Sheppard slipped in behind O’Neill. A cant of his hips and a twist and he suddenly stood between McKay and O’Neill.

“Why are you here?” McKay demanded. “What about Grant? You left him alone.”

“He’s finally sleeping,” Sheppard said softly. “Carson’s staying with him.”

“He doesn’t like Carson as much as you.” Rodney bristled, he jabbed at the door. “Stop trying to distract me. Go back and look after Grant. I have matters to settle.”

Sheppard always responded to orders so very well. He leaned back against the tall bureau near O’Neill. Resting an elbow on the top, he reached up to entwine a spike of black hair.

McKay glared at him. A faint smirk curled O’Neill’s top lip. Sheppard straightened perceptibly, elbow slipping off the bureau.

“You can’t distract me,” McKay snapped at Sheppard. He stepped back toward the large window that overlooked the meeting room so he could see all of the players. Scowling at O’Neill, he then turned his focus on Landry, still standing behind his mahogany desk. “Grant is in danger. Danger that you, General Landry, put him in. Grant has to be protected. And tell me, General Landry, how are you going to do that?”

“Your cousin is--” General Landry began.

“If you say ‘special’ I’m going to show you some of the skills that I’ve learned in the last year.”

Landry’s nostrils flared, he said flatly, “Your cousin will be protected. I have spoken with your Prime Minister, Mr. Harper, personally, and he has expressed his concern over the threat that has been raised against Mr. Jansky.”

Rodney planted his hands over his face. “My cousin is never going to be safe. He might as well be wearing a red shirt.”

McKay fell away from them and their military persuasion. His back hit the window jarring him from heel to the tip of his spine. They didn’t understand; they might rail against the powers that be, but if asked they considered that they served a greater good. Even the most sarcastic and insincere -- McKay looked through his fingers at O’Neill -- still showed a degree of naivety, a belief in Cowboys with White Hats.

Damn, what was the answer? He couldn’t leave Grant. Grant couldn’t work in the SGC at Cheyenne Mountain, it was too intense – he’d break into a thousand pieces within a week. He could quit and get a job with one of the research companies that would pamper his every whim. He had patents; he could hire his own band of mercenaries to protect Grant.

“Can I make a suggestion?” O’Neill raised a hand.

McKay’s head snapped up.

“We could send him to Antarctica. It’s quiet. It’s well protected. He’d be valuable looking at that adjunct-y thingy of the Ancient database the geeks discovered.”

That could work. McKay peered at O’Neill. The man often pretended to be an idiot, and in reality was an imbecile – otherwise why keep throwing himself in front of the enemies of Earth? Hadn’t O’Neill heard of delegating? But occasionally he showed a modicum of not being an idiot.

“Excuse me,” Sheppard interrupted, “but can the Air Force really keep Grant sequestered in Antarctica? Don’t get me wrong, it’s an awesome place. As an interim, maybe, he might even enjoy it. But long term?”

“So what do you suggest?” McKay demanded. “Atlantis? I’m trying to find a stress free environment where he’s not under threat. That sounds just like Atlantis, don’t you think? Oh, possibly, in _Fairy Tale_ Universe.”

Sheppard consulted his nails. “We can protect him.”

McKay opened and closed his mouth. Part of his gut turned inside out at that casual promise. But Sheppard would write it in blood if needed.

“It’s not like Earth is safe,” Sheppard continued blithely, “now that Dr. Jackson -- that’s his name, isn’t it -- has woken up the Ori. Hey, I don’t have a crystal ball, anything can happen. We could all get some of that really nasty Chicken ‘Flu tomorrow and all die.”

McKay wondered if, when he throttled Sheppard, Elizabeth would buy his excuse that he had had a hypoglycaemic fit.

“Bird ‘Flu,” O’Neill corrected.

“This is serious!” McKay screamed, spittle flying in the air. “You’ve just proven that Grant isn’t safe. The American Government or The Canadian Government isn’t going to protect an asset that doesn’t produce anything that they can use. And Grant’s never going to dance to your whims and your threats. He’s not going to jump through your hoops.”

“Like you?” O’Neill asked, smirking.

“Don’t you even start! This isn’t funny. It isn’t remotely funny. My cousin is in the infirmary.” McKay raised his hand, and then let it drop, suddenly defeated. There was no good solution to Grant’s dilemma. “And he’s not safe and he’d never going to be.”

Sheppard pushed away from the bureau. He came close but not close enough to touch. “Atlantis is the best place for him, Rodney. Do you want him squirreled away --” he chuffed out a shallow, depreciative laugh, “--in some kind of brain tank? He could be great in Atlantis.”

“It could kill him,” McKay pointed out.

“Are we really safe anywhere?” Sheppard returned.

“Oh, thanks. Thanks for that.”

“Look, Rodney, that’s the reality of the situation, and you know it. But on Atlantis he’ll be with his family.”

McKay folded his arms over his chest, holding them up high. “Okay. But short term, we have to see how he does.”

“I don’t think…” Landry began.

“Like you have any say,” McKay said quellingly. “It’s for Dr. Weir and the IOA to approve. And given the debacle you, personally, engendered, I don’t think that you’ve got anything to contribute.”

McKay moved, forcing Sheppard to step back or be brushed aside. O’Neill waited until the last instant to step out of the way. But he withdrew, McKay noted with a thrum of satisfaction. He spun on his heel, glaring back at General Landry.

“I still want your resignation, Landry.”

He didn’t wait for an answer or an acknowledgment, turning and stalking past O’Neill. He didn’t know this new General, but he could say that he didn’t respect him.

The man hadn’t even apologised.

 _fin_   



End file.
